Procrastination
by froomiest bandersnatch
Summary: Professor Minerva McGonagall never procrastinated, but yet there were several piles of parchment on her desk she just didn't want to look at.


Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of Gryffindor, and Mistress of Transfiguration never procrastinated. To be honest, she never actually had the time to procrastinate, but here she was sitting behind her desk, staring at her ever-increasing workload and wishing she was doing something else. It was very odd indeed.

Rather than setting her nose to the grindstone, as was her usual habit, Minerva stood up and cast her eyes around her office, desperately searching for an alternative to working. She walked to the window and peered out. She saw nothing of any interest whatsoever. She supposed that even if there _was_ something of interest, she couldn't have possibly seen it anyway, because the rain was lashing so hard and fast at the glass and the afternoon was so grey that vision was completely obstructed.

Turning away from the window, she walked back over to her desk, determined to start grading papers, but even as she reached for the topmost third year essay on the nearest pile, her mind began to wander.

Minerva's imagination, contrary to most students' beliefs was quite well-developed. Letting the parchment fall from her fingers, she placed her hand under her chin and let a small smile cross her face.

_Dolores Umbridge stood in the middle of Entrance Hall, her pudgy hands clasped for mercy as she turned circles, staring at the unmerciful and laughing students surrounding her. Peeves was circling overhead, pelting the "toad" with water balloons that soaked her pink fluffy cardigan and drenched her red, blotchy, and infuriated face. The bow perched on top of her head was limp. She was practically vibrating with indignation. Minerva strode foreword and slapped her soundly across the face and cackled happily. Dungbombs rolled out from underneath robes and Fanged Frisbees sailed joyously across the hall. Umbridge turned on her heel, tripped on the wet, slippery floor and fell flat on her face. _

"Professor?" A voice sounded, knocking Minerva out of her happy reverie. Caught off guard, her hand slipped and her chin hit the desk in front of her. Looking up, she glared at the identical satanic grins of Fred and George Weasley. She straightened and gestured toward the seats in front of her.

"Alright boys, what can I help you with?"

"Before we answer you question –" one twin began.

"Which we will in meticulous detail, to be sure," the other finished with a cheeky grin.

"What we wanted to know was what caused the dreamy smile –"

"The glazed eyes –"

"The wee drop of drool –"

"That's enough boys, and consequently none of you business as well." Minerva said forcefully.

"Ah George, we must not intrude on our dear professor's romantic daydreams," Fred said with a smirk at his brother.

"Indeed not, Fred!" George looked up at Minerva with wide innocent eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"_Enough boys!_" Minerva roared. She swallowed and attempted to moderate her voice, but inside she was smiling uncontrollably. "Now why are you here?"

"Why, Professor Umbridge sent us to you! Apparently she disliked the way we charmed the blackboard with a giant toad with a bow being stepped on. I really have no idea why, it was quite a lovely likeness, but she yelled and screamed and carried on a bit. She does seem to have anger issues doesn't she Fred?" Fred's head bobbed up and down.

He replied to George, "While throwing us bodily out her classroom, I did sense some pent up frustration."

"So what is your punishment?" Minerva pretended to appear unconcerned, but inwardly she was excited at the prospect of not working. She reached for the forgotten essay and grabbed her favorite quill.

"Well, see that's the problem," Fred said, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing his freckled hands in front of him.

"She said it was up to you," George said.

"Well, I'll have to place you in detention. The portraits on the fourth floor need a bit of dusting I suppose…and I'll have to supervise you as Mr. Filch will be busy tonight." Minerva had difficulty hiding her glee. She knew she shouldn't procrastinate and she knew she'd regret it tomorrow, but as for now, the two red-headed troublemakers gave her a legitimate excuse to leave grading for another time. Which was completely irresponsible, but felt too damn good.


End file.
